


I Found Something Disturbing While Metal Detecting

by Sashabutters



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bed-Wetting, F/F, Gas Lighting, Mental Institutions, Metal detecting, Murder Mystery, Psychological Horror, no sleep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashabutters/pseuds/Sashabutters
Summary: A story I wrote a few years ago for No Sleep on Reddit. The first chapter even got narrated on Youtube by Sir Ayame which you can listen to here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCHmD-6Uorw
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

You guys remember those cornfield mazes they had near Halloween time? I was always so terrible at those, no surprise seeing as how my sense of direction is somewhere on par between Mapquest and Apple Maps. I’d get lost in those for hours. My friends, like any good friends, would always get out before me, stand on top of the stairs overlooking the maze, and shout out wrong directions to me. To this day I can’t even go inside an Ikea without having a panic attack.

As much as I hated being inside a maze, there was one thing I loved about them. My dad and I had a ritual for a long time before they stopped having them in my town. The day after they would tear it down, we’d grab our metal detectors and go hunt for buried treasure in the now empty field. Our “treasures” usually consisted of bottle caps, pull-tabs, some loose change, and if we were really lucky, some jewelry, but it was all about the thrill of the hunt. One person even gave me $40 dollars for finding their car keys.

Our hobby stopped around the same time they stopped hosting the mazes; they hadn’t had one in three years. Out of curiosity, I asked my dad about it. He’s on the city council, he knows these things—at least he acts like he knows everything. He told me they stopped because there was a problem with teenagers using it as a place to drink and hook up after hours. I didn’t question him about it, and it sure explained all the beer bottle caps we found over the years.

I had the bright idea earlier today to go out and hit up the field for old times sake. My metal detector was sitting in the garage looking so pitiful, so I dusted it off, threw in some fresh batteries and drove down there. I got out of the car and looked around. The once bustling city attraction was now nothing more than a desolate, abandoned field taken over by knee high weeds.

I was out there for maybe an hour before I got bored of digging up bottle caps. When I got the center of the field, I turned to leave, and that’s when my machine let out a long, loud signal instead of the usual short and sharp beeps of a coin. I was going to pass it up since it usually doesn’t make that noise unless I found a soda can or something.

I don’t know what made me do it. I was tired, sweaty, and hungry and I just wanted to go home. Yet I still got on the ground on my hands and knees with gardening trowel in hand and dug. I got maybe an inch in the ground before I felt my shovel collide with something hard. I could see something colorful in the dirt. Found the soda can, I thought. I pressed my shovel into the earth one more time before out popped something I wasn’t expecting. It was large, square, and pink. I picked it up and gave it a look over until I realized what I was staring out. Underneath all the dirt sat an older model cell phone, maybe an original Samsung Galaxy or something.

Excited about my unusual find, I stuffed it in my pocket along with the days treasures. (Which consisted of three pennies, a hot wheels car, and something that looked like it fell off a tractor.)

The phone itself was as dead as a squished opossum on the side of the road, but I stuck my phone charger in it anyway more than a little surprised to see it filling up with juice. I pulled the memory card out of the side of the slot and stuck it in my pocket. Then I left the phone on the counter and let it charge while I went about my business for the rest of the night. I honestly forgot all about it until my dad pointed it out and asked where it came from.

I announced, quite proudly I might add, that I had found it metal detecting today. I could see his eyes light up in interest at the memory of our forgotten hobby. We even used to belong to a metal detecting club that would hold contests each month for the best finds. If we were still involved, the phone would surely have won the prize for most unusual find. His behavior changed when I told him where I found it though. His smile dropped to a disproving stare that seeped with disappointment like I had just told him I was going to be a teen mom.

“You’re not supposed to be over there,” He said sharply. I blinked in surprise.

“Why not? We used to go there all the time.” I pointed out.

“It’s private property. I don’t want you going over there.” He said. I was quite shocked. I thought he’d be way more accepting of the fact that I found it in the old field. So what if there was an NO TRESSPASSING sign? Since when had we ever listened to those?

I pressed the issue, but he just got irritable, which made me irritable. He played the, “You’re a girl; it’s not safe card,” “And I played the, “I’m eighteen years old! I’m an adult!” Pretty soon we were having another shouting match.

“An adult! Ha! I’ll let you say you’re an adult when you stop pissing the bed!”

Seething in anger from him going over the line, I grabbed the phone off the counter, but he stopped me and demanded I give it to him.

“Why?” 

“BECAUSE I SAID SO, RACHEL!” He hollered at the top of his lungs. Once he threw the parent card, there was no use trying to negotiate. I handed it over, knowing I still had the memory card in my pocket.

I stormed to my room without looking back and slammed the door shut, before collapsing on my bed in tears. He had changed since mom left three years ago. He had changed and so had I; and neither of us had changed for the better.

My dad became really over protective of me since then and I hate it. I want my independence. He treats me like a child, but at the same time, how can he not since I’ve been acting like one? Ever since mom left without even saying goodbye I’ve… taken a few steps back, so says my therapist. I’m more emotional, immature, and, well, as you read, I turned into a bed wetter.

I punch my pillow in frustration. How dare he play the bed wetter card! He knows how sensitive of a topic that is for me! I let out a moan of frustration and sorrow as I hold my pillow tight against my chest as I continued to cry.

Whenever I get in a fight with my dad I… I like to pretend I’m little again. I like to pretend that this pillow I’m holding between my arms isn’t a pillow at all. I like to pretend it’s my mom. I pretend she’s holding me against her chest and stroking my head like she used to when I was little, back when she still loved me. Why else would she have left us? If I concentrate really hard I can almost smell the perfume she always wore. But that could be because I used to spray it on my pillow before I ran out and found out they discontinued it. 

It’s all pretend though, picturing the perfect mother in my mind. My therapist says it’s all part of the grieving process. Maybe if I was seven. 18 year olds don’t spray furniture with perfume and pretend it’s the mother that abandoned her family. 18 year olds shouldn’t still cry from the hurt. 18 year olds shouldn’t pretend they are seven and crave that person’s embrace like an addict craves heroin. And 18 year olds shouldn’t wet the bed.

One day three years ago she just never came home from her job teaching at the high school. We called her work and she never said anything to them. All her stuff was still here, her car still parked at the school. We called the police and at first they suspected foul play, but then they noticed another teacher was also missing. A male teacher. And then they found the emails. She had been having an affair and the police put two and two together. She had run off with him to start a new family. I knew my parents had been having problems, but I didn’t think she’d go that far. We’ve never heard from her since. I don’t think I could even recognize her voice anymore.

I look up at the clock and let out a sigh. I really should get ready for bed just incase I fall asleep. I reach under my bed and pull out the package of bed wetting pants. Too many times I’ve fallen asleep before I got changed only to have to take the walk of shame to the laundry room with soiled clothes and sheets.

I begin to tug my pants down, only to remember the memory card in my pocket. I pulled it out along with my phone and swap them out. Maybe looking through someone else’s life will help me forget about my own. After changing, I turned off my bedroom light and plopped onto my bed. Phone in hand I searched the memory card. It was just a bunch of pictures of the high school. Some pictures of food, some of random teenagers around campus. As I suspected, it belonged to a student.

Along with the pictures was a video file. I clicked on it. It was taken on an older phone, so the picture quality wasn’t that great, but you could still clearly hear voices and make out the shapes of faces in the poor lighting of the phone. I recognized where they were immediately when I saw the tall rows of corn in the back round. The old maze. Well duh, I thought after a second, that is where I found the phone. I watched as the owner turned the phone around. Two giggling high school girls clearly a little buzzed by the sounds of their voices. My dad wasn’t kidding; it really was the teenage drinking zone.

I watched the video of the two blonde teenagers carry on as they staggered through the maze in the dark giggling. “Shh, shh I hear someone.” One of them said, while she herself was anything but subtle. The video panned out to the stalks of corn where two blurry outlines of people could be seen on the other side.

Two other voices began to play through the phone. I thought there’d be more teenagers, but I was surprised to hear two adults talking. I strained to listen, but I couldn’t make out the words. Then the figures began to embrace.

“Those two adults are making out.” The owner of the phone whispered.

“That’s Mr. Chancler! Whose he with?”

“OH, EM GEE! It’s Mrs. Brook! My history teacher!” the other girl squealed.

I immediately felt my blood run cold. Mrs. Brook is… my mother.

I continued to watch, my eyes, and ears now intently glued to the screen. The figures on the other side came into focus better as the girl zoomed in. I could make out my mothers long brown hair. I turned my volume up to max on my phone and listened as they began to talk again.

“Run away with me, Stayce.” The man said as he brushed my mothers hair from her face. I felt my blood boil as I watched. This was the man who stole my mother from me!

“We’ve talked about this before.” My mom said. He let his hand fall limply to his side.

“Why not? Why won’t you leave hi-“

“I’ve told you! It’s not about him! I’m not leaving my daughter! I love you, I do, but I can’t just pack up to a different state and leave her behind.”

I could feel fresh tears sting my eyes and blur my vision. But wait… if she was so adamant about not leaving me behind, where was she? Had he convinced her to go? I paused the video and checked the date it had been taken. It was the day she had gone missing. I continued the video and watched them argue back and forth for a while. Things were getting heated, and a growing sense of dread began to build inside of me. The tension between them continued to escalate until a loud BANG filled the air. I let out a choked sob as one of the figures slumped over onto the ground.

“OMG,” One of the girls screamed. They dropped the phone and I could hear them run away. The phone landed next to the stalks of corn and remained propped up pointed towards the scene so I still had a good view, albeit much lower.

I was shocked when I focused my eyes through the stalks to see not my moms’ body, but that of her lovers. I thought for sure he had shot her. Was it… was it the other way around? Had she shot him? I could hear my mother’s screams; the sound brought all the hairs on my arms on end.

“RICHARD!” She shouted. She dove to the ground and leaned over his body. “Richard! What happened?” she turned him over and saw the bullet wound. Her head snapped around and that’s when another figure appeared out from the cornfield into the clearing wearing a Halloween mask from the movie Scream. “What did you do!?” She shouted.

“Shut up, bitch! Get on the ground!” The muffled voice through the mask said. She looked down and saw the phone recording a few feet from her through the stalks. She grabbed it and made a run for it. All I could see was the ground flying past as she ran through the cornfields. “I’m coming for you, Stayce!” The other voice said.

She continued to run until she came to a dead end in the maze. She turned around only to hear him approaching. She held the phone up in front of her to record. I could see my mother’s terrified face looking straight at me.

“I know you’ll find this. I love you, Rachel. You’ll always be my baby girl.” I watched as she got on the ground and began to dig a hole in the soft dirt with her hands before burying the phone. Although I could no longer see, I could still hear the muffled conversation.

“I know it’s you, Tom, take off the mask.” She said.

“Shut up!”

“Why, Tom?”

“You’re cheating on me!”

My eyes widened in terror as I heard another BANG. I sat on my bed un-moving for a good 30 minutes before the shock wore off and the tears finally came. My mom, she knew I metal detected that field every year and left me this video as a warning.

My mother never left me. She was stolen from me. Stolen from me by my father.


	2. Chapter 2

So much has happened in one day I don’t know where to start. I suppose the most logical place would be the night I watched the video. Once I managed to snap myself from my catatonic state, I cried until I felt like I couldn’t move (as pathetic as that sounds). I hugged my pillow tight and went back in time. Back before my parents fought, back when I’d climb in my mothers lap and she’d hold and rock me and tell me those six words, “you’ll always be my baby girl.”

My therapist is the one who gave me the idea. She told me whenever I feel scared, or sad, etc. to think of a happy time in my life and stay in that mindset until I calmed down. That’s how I came up with seven. She called it my safe space, but I call it my little space. I tried to google it once to see if this was common. I wish I hadn’t. The term infantilism popped up, and being my naïve, and innocent self, I clicked on it. I noped the fuck out of there so fast as soon as I got a message asking if I was looking for a daddy. I set fire to my search history, and that was that.

The phrase you don’t know what you have until it’s gone really hits home for me. My mother was always affectionate, and I was always such a brat by pushing her away. I’d always tell her I was too old, and that’s where the phrase, “You’ll always be my baby girl,” came from. The relief that she didn’t leave me to run off with some man felt amazing, but it was short lived. Soon after, the fear began to set in. I had a problem and I didn’t know what I was going to do about it. I was living with a killer.

I noticed a lot of you telling me to run away, but I have no money, no other relatives, and nowhere to go. Once my mother left- well died- I changed. I pushed all my friends away and hid in my room. Going metal detecting was really an unusual spur of the moment thing. Now that I think about it, I’m starting to think it was my mom pushing me to find that phone.

Once I managed to get a hold of myself, I went to my computer and copied the files from the memory card onto my own flash drive, and also onto my computer. I don’t think my dad will notice the missing memory card, but just in case he does… I deleted the video off of it. I don’t want him knowing I know. If he gets a hold of the memory card and looks through the files, all he’ll see is the pictures.

Just when I finished moving everything I needed to, someone started pounding on my bedroom door. I jumped a foot in the air as my dad stormed in and asked what the hell I thought I was doing. I looked at the time. It was 1:30 in the morning. I just stared at him with a blank expression on my face. Was he mad I was up so late? Or did he know what I’d done?

“Why are you making so much racket? I have to get up in the morning! Go to bed!” He yelled. What? Was I crying too loud?

“I-I wasn’t making any noise.” I said. My voice came out cracked and nervous sounding. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. I was never good at hiding things. My parents always knew if I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. My face was an open book.

“I heard you pounding on the hall with your fist! And for God’s sake pick up your feet when you walk! You sound like an angry toddler stomping down the hallway!” He left and slammed the door behind him. I don’t know what he heard, but it wasn’t me.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I didn’t get any sleep that night, and it sounded like my dad didn’t either. I could hear him up around 4 in the morning in the kitchen. He must have been in a really bad mood because I could hear him slamming the cabinets closed behind him.

What was I going to do? My dad killed my mom in cold blood. It was obvious what I HAD to do; I had to go to the police. My mom was buried out in that field; I just knew it. That’s why my dad didn’t want me metal detecting there. If the bodies weren’t there, the gun surely was. He was afraid I’d find something, and since bodies aren’t metallic…

I spent the night trying to mentally prepare myself for what I had to do. Turn my dad in. My stomach churned at the thought. The voices in the back of my mind argued with each other all night. How could you do that to your own father, half of me said, while the other argued he had no problem doing it to my mother. On the bright side I didn’t wet the bed. Probably because I didn’t get any sleep.

Right when I finally felt myself drifting off to sleep I heard my dad shout from the kitchen, “RACHEL! GET OVER HERE, RACHEL!”

My eyes sprang open and I dashed into the kitchen in fright. I stopped and stared wide eyed at the scene before me. All the cupboards were open, every drawer, and every door. This included the fridge, freezer, and dishwasher.

“What the hell did you do?” He said, standing there in his navy blue bathrobe. I shook my head wide eyed.

“I thought it was you making all the noise.” I said. He frowned, clearly displeased with my explanation.

He ignored me and went on, “Are you trying to waste all our food for a prank!? Look at all the meat I have to throw out! And look! The ice creams melted!” He mumbled under his breath before saying. “I don’t have time for this! This kitchen better be spotless by the time I come home!”

I let out a frustrated sigh and went to clean things up. All I had to do was close the doors and throw out the ice cream. It’s obvious to me my dad was sleepwalking. He probably knows I’m on to him, and the stress got to him. Or maybe I’m sleepwalking and the stress got to me. Or maybe it’s a passive aggressive ghost come to take revenge on him by spoiling his ice cream. 

I let out a weak smile despite the situation. Maybe if I got a ojuji board I could channel the vengeful spirits and ask them to hide one of every sock in his drawer.

After a night of thinking it over I made up my mind to go to the police. Flash drive in hand, I drove over there before school and tried to think of how I’d explain my situation. When I got there and stood in front of the lady at the front desk, who asked if I needed help, my brain shut down and turned to mush. I stood there stammering out half thoughts as I tried my best to explain what was going on. By some miracle I managed to get out that a murder had taken place.

The lady at the front desk made a call before asking me to wait and said someone would be down to speak with me shortly. After twenty minutes a man by the name of Detective Mario Gonzales took me to a back room to talk. I handed over my flash drive and we watched the video together. I explained as best I could that was my mother in the video. He seemed pleasant and eager to help, but as soon as he went to get her case and came back, he acted different. It was almost as if he was an entirely different person.

“You know videos can be faked.” He said. He began trying to find holes in my story. “There were no bodies, and no murder weapon. You can barely make out anything more than figures off in the distance.” And of course, he brought up the fact that it was a corn maze. She could have just pushed through the corn. That was why he believed it was a fake.

I tried to explain if they would just look in the field, but he said because it was private property he’d have to get a search warrant, and the video just wasn’t enough to justify it.

“What if you just got permission from the owner?” I tried, but he just shook his head.

“I doubt the owner of the field will give us permission.”

“How do you know if you don’t try!” I nearly shouted. How could they just brush me off without even trying?

“Because,” he said without even flinching, “You’re accusing the owner of the field of murder.” It hit me like a ton of bricks. The reason the corn mazes stopped was because of change of ownership. I thought he had managed to convince the city council somehow of stopping the event. I never thought he’d outright buy the field.

“Please, help me.” I begged. “I’m scared.”

His face softened at this. I think he could see the genuine fear on my face. It took everything inside of me to come here today. “I could see about questioning the girls in the video. If there’s an eyewitness account, it would help validate your claims and help get a search warrant, but as it stands, a shaky phone video isn’t enough to convince a judge an actual crime occurred.”

“Thank you,” I said. It made me feel a little better. Not much, but a little. I packed up my stuff and went to leave, but he stopped me and asked if I had any more copies of the video. I nodded and told him I had more copies at home.   
……………………………………………………………………………………………..

I went to school after that. I missed the first three periods, but other than that, the day was pretty uneventful. I’d just have to make sure to beat my dad home and erase the message on the answering machine that said I was absent from school.

When I got home, I noticed right away something wasn’t right. The front door to my house was open. I know I closed and locked it and my dads’ car was nowhere to be seen. Not wanting to walk into a robbery in progress, I ran to the neighbors’ house and knocked on their door.

I apologized for bothering him, but that there might be someone in my house. He let me inside and I sat with his wife. His wife told him to call the police, but instead he grabbed a baseball bat and went to check it out. He came back thirty seconds later looking white as a sheet. This time he called. When he hung up he explained my house had been torn apart. All the drawers were open, and all the furniture was upside down. The cops came before my dad did. The searched the perimeter and said it was safe to come inside.

The house was a disaster, and I was freaking out. Papers were scattered everywhere, lamps knocked over, and all the electronics in the house were dead. But they were still there. Nothing was taken. The police said there was no sign of forced entry. They think I forgot to lock the front door-- even though I swear up and down I did. I told them about what happened this morning but they didn’t think it was related.

My dad came home shortly after and pitched a fit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad. Even my neighbor intervened and told him to calm down.

All the electronics in the house are completely fried: the computers, the TV, the lights. We each have a working laptop because we bring them with us; his for work and mine for school. Unfortunately, the router is dead, so no Internet at home. It creeps me out being there, so I’m at a McDonald’s right now, clearly ignoring their “30 minute” signs.

It feels. . . violating to know someone was in your house going through all your stuff. The house doesn’t feel right anymore, I feel like I’m being watched, but I guess I’ve been more on edge since. I’m wondering if whoever broke in was looking for something in particular since nothing was taken that we’re aware of.

I’m still waiting to hear back from the detective. If he doesn’t call by tomorrow I’m going over there. I’ve left him a few messages, all of which were ignored. Too many weird things have been going on since then. I’ll keep you guys updated if anything else major happens. At least with my desktop fried, I no longer have to worry about my search history.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday night—well actually Saturday morning-- when I finally came home from McDonalds, I went straight to my room and collapsed on my bed. I was so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open to drive home. I didn’t bother changing out of my school clothes from the night before either. My pillow was beckoning me, and in a trance, I obliged.

I dreamed I was being chased in a cornfield, begging and pleading with whoever—or whatever-- was behind me. I could see the stalks moving every time I looked behind me, getting closer and closer with every second. I ran, feeling powerless and terrified as I shouted for someone to help me. I sprinted into a dead end, just as my mother had. I turned to face my pursuer, but there was no one there. I stood, my nerves on edge, looking left and right. All the hairs on my arms stood on end. Where was it? I jumped as I felt something grab my ankle. I looked down to find several rotting hands reaching up from the ground, one with a tight grip on my ankle as it begin to pull me down into the soft earth. I felt myself begin to sink like quicksand. My chest in the ground, then my waist, followed my legs. I could feel the hand pulling followed by another, and another. Just as my head was covered with dirt I woke up gasping for air.

I felt a presence in my room with me. I looked up to find my dad staring at me from the hallway. He came and sat on the edge of the bed and asked if I was all right. I scooted away from him in fright. I could see the hurt in his eyes, but my racing heartbeat warned me to stay on guard. His eyes of sympathy slowly began to morph into one of disgust. He launched up out of my bed as if a spider had crawled onto him. He looked down at me in annoyance, as if repulsed by the mere sight of me.

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion and motioned to get out of bed, but as soon as I moved the blankets the smell hit me. I had forgotten to change last night, and could feel the moisture surrounding my waist. I looked away from him no longer able to meet his eyes. He mumbled something that sounded like, “disgusting” and left my room in a huff.

I let out a sigh of frustration. He’s always seen my problem as childish and thinks if he gives me enough negative reinforcement, I will somehow subconsciously stop doing it, like a yappy dog given a shock collar. It only happens maybe once a week, unless I’m really stressed—like right now. 

I pulled the blankets back ready to inspect the damage and let out a startled gasp. My legs, the beddings, and the blankets were all covered in blood. I whimpered as I tossed the blanket back over me and let my mini heart attack run its course. I felt shivers run up and down my back as my mind raced to find a possible explanation. It’s my period, I finally told myself, my period that’s two weeks early. When I made up my mind that this was perfectly normal biological response to stress (yay hormones) I turned the covers over only to be greeted with . . . nothing. No blood, or urine.

I sat there staring at my lap utterly perplexed. How was this possible? Maybe it was the sleep deprivation? Or maybe it was the lighting playing tricks on my eyes by casting a shadow over my legs. But what about the smell and the moisture I felt? I sniffed myself and grimaced. I was covered head to toe in sweat.

I peeked under the blankets a third time to make sure I wasn’t going to suddenly find myself sitting in a pile of green Jello this time. Once the coast was clear, I sat up out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. I stood under the hot water for a good 45 minutes, still shaken up from the nightmare. It wasn’t until I was rubbing the soapy loofa over my legs did I notice the bruise that wrapped around my ankle. A bruise that was in the shape of hand.

I tried to tell myself I was loosing it. What I needed was a good nights sleep without any nightmares and I’d be okay. I just needed to think of something to calm myself down, I thought as I stepped out of the shower. Now wasn’t a good time to be seven.

The bathroom was thick with steam and the mirror clouded with condensation as I grabbed a towel off the rack, and threw it over my head. I closed my eyes and began to dry my hair. It wasn’t until I removed the towel did I notice the mirror. I stood rooted to the spot as I stared at the message. Written in condensation in the glass were the words HELP ME.

I dropped my towel to the floor and stared as it began to dawn on me. I think I brought home more than just a cell phone.

“I’ll try, mom.” I whispered.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I must have left a dozen more voicemails for the detective, none of which were returned. I ended up pacing back and forth in the house most of the day trying to figure out what to do. I’d give him until Monday. He was a homicide detective; he must be pretty busy, right?

I convinced myself my mom caused whatever was going on in the house. I felt more at ease; she wouldn’t hurt me! My mom wanted me to solve her death and I was determined that’s what I was going to do! Somehow…

A leather bound book sitting in the hallway caught my attention. I grabbed it and decided to kill time by looking through old photo albums. I noticed right away most of my moms’ pictures were missing. A sure sign of guilt, I thought. I flipped through the pictures reminiscing of old Christmases and Thanksgivings. I smirked when I got to a picture of me with French braids standing in front of the fireplace mantel. That was the night I accidentally stuck one of my braids in a candle and it caught on fire. My dad panicked and threw a bucket of water on my head. I slipped in the puddle and reached out with my hand to try and catch something and ended up pulling my dads shorts down as I landed on the ground. Seven was a good year.

I turned the page and came across a picture of me around the same age holding up a fish between two men. One was my dad and the other… I couldn’t quite place him but he looked oddly familiar. I pulled it out of the sleeve and stared at it. My blood ran cold as I read the printing on the back. Lake Pyro. Frank, Rachel, and Mario.

I clenched my fists in anger. That’s why the detective wasn’t returning my phone calls! He was a friend of my dad! “Son of a bitch!” I grumbled.

So if I couldn’t count on the police, what could I do? He had the only copy of the video now that since my computer was fried. What I needed was solid evidence a crime had taken place in order to take it to a different police station.

The more I thought about it, the more obvious the solution became. If they needed more evidence, I knew exactly where to get it. I had a metal detector, so what was keeping me from digging it up? I looked at my cellphone for the time. I had three hours until my dad came home.

I grabbed my metal detector and headed to my car. I drove down to the lot trying to think of the exact location where I had found the phone. It couldn’t have been too far from there. I got there, parked, and pulled my metal detector from the car. I only made it a few yards in until I heard a police siren behind me. “Fuck.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY OUT OF THE FIELD!” my dad yelled when he came to pick me up at the police station. “Why do you think I had a cop there waiting? I knew you’ve been acting suspicious lately!”

A cop had chased me off, but I had waited until he turned the corner to try again. He caught me.

“Oh, I’m acting suspicious?” I fired back as I got in his car and we drove home. “I know what’s in the field.” I mumbled underneath my breath.

“Stay away! I mean it! I’m calling a company first thing in the morning and putting up a barbed wire fence.” He said. I could see his fists shaking as he gripped the steering wheel.

“What happened to mom?” I asked. My eyes blurred with tears of anger. 

“Jesus, Rachel. We promised to put this behind us. Why are you bringing all this up now?”

“I just . . .really miss her!” I sobbed into my hands.

“You’ve got me, Rachel, you don’t need her! Not after what she did to us.” He added darkly. It was clear he wasn’t sorry at all. We pulled into the driveway and I got out, tears still streaming down my face and I ran from him. “RACHEL!” He shouted after me.

I didn’t get very far. Actually I didn’t even get past my driveway before I ran into my neighbor that I asked for help when the house was broken into. I must have looked like a mess with tears and snot running down my face. I was at my breaking point. She tried to ask me what was wrong, but I just kept shaking my head and whimpering, “nothing.”

“Did you get in a fight with your dad?” she asked softly. I nodded my head and sniffled. She invited me to spend the night in their spare bedroom, and I took her up on it. I couldn’t stay with my dad another day. I had to get away, even if it was only one house over.

I sat in the living room by myself and tried to pull myself together while she made tea. Her husband was in the other room watching sports on tv, and I could hear him talking to the players through the screen. I took my shoes and socks off and examined my ankle. It was swollen and the bruise was even more pronounced.

“Oh, honey, how did you get that?” Judy asked, as she came in carrying two mugs. I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t even think about how bad it must look, until she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “did he do that?” I felt bad about lying, but I nodded my head. If it got me away from him longer the better off I was before he really did do something violent. “Oh, sweetie.” She said, setting the mug down on the coffee table. She pulled me into a tight hug, and I can’t begin to tell you how good it felt. It had been so long since I had felt any kind of physical affection, and I just kind of broke down. She rubbed and patted my back and let me get it out of my system. I felt calmer after.

After an hour of talking about my plans after I finished school (I had to admit I was going to be a super senior) did she ask if I needed her husband, Frank, to get anything from my house. I was going to say no, but I thought of the package under my bed. I would be mortified if I repaid their kindness by wetting their bed. I wrote a list, which included: spare clothes, pill box, my phone charger, the package under my bed, and my laptop. I grimaced in embarrassment when she asked me to clarify what the package under my bed was, just in case he had trouble distinguishing it from something else. I mumbled what it was, and her lips curled into a tight frown. For a second I was afraid she wouldn’t let me stay here, but I was a little shocked what came out of her mouth.

“You know that’s a sign of sexual abuse,” she let the phrase hang in the air until I understood where she was going with it.

“No, no, no” I sputtered. I wanted my dad to get arrested, but I didn’t want him to get shanked while he was there. “Never, it’s just a problem I’ve had off and on since my mom left.” I admitted.

When Frank came back with all my things, I thanked them and got ready for bed. Judy came in to check on me and make sure I was all right. She sat on the edge of the bed and we talked for a little while longer. My eyes were getting heavy, and as I turned my head to check the time on the clock I noticed a picture on the nightstand. In the picture stood a smiling blond girl, the same girl from the video!

“Who is that?” I asked now wide-awake.

“Hmm? Oh, that’s my daughter.” Judy said. She reached out and touched the photo affectionately. I was afraid she was going to tell me she had gone missing with how sad Judy’s face appeared. “She’ll be home from college next week.” My heart soared. I had a witness! I was one step closer to the truth!


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday was uneventful, just the way I like it. I got to catch up on sleep and de--stress. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I opened my eyes Sunday morning to realize it wasn’t morning at all, it was nearly one in the afternoon. A knock on the door is finally what woke me up. Judy came in to check up and me. She said she had tried to get me up for breakfast, but that I had showed no signs of life or willingness to leave the confines of the blankets. Why would I ever want to leave that bed? The down comforter was amazing!

When I finally sat up, I was greeted by the cold moisture on my waist. I was almost afraid to check after the events of the previous day. I pulled back the covers and let out my held breath. I never thought I’d say I was relieved to have wet the bed. No pun intended. I’m glad I admitted my problem and asked them to bring me sleep shorts (I just can’t bring myself to call them diapers), otherwise I don’t think I’d ever be able to show my face there again. And what of the interrogation with the witness? Hey, welcome home from college, sorry I pissed your bed, now can you answer some questions for me?

Around three in the afternoon my dad came by to try and talk to me, but I wouldn’t have it. Judy tried to get me to talk to him, but I said I needed more time. Is forever a correct measurement of time? He reminded me of my psych appointment on Thursday, which I had completely forgotten about amidst the chaos, so I guess his visit wasn’t all bad -- even if he could have just texted me.

I spent most of the day planning what I was going to ask Bella, Judy’s daughter. The name sounded oddly familiar, but I attributed that to my junior high obsession with Twilight.

Around dinnertime, Judy asked me if they ever caught whoever broke into the house. I shook my head, but something about my face must have seemed suspicious. I really hate my open book face. She asked me if there was something else wrong. I relented and told her I thought my house was haunted. I could see her trying to hold back a laugh.

The rest of the week was pretty uneventful until Wednesday night; I had another nightmare. I dreamed I was back home lying in my bed, but I couldn’t move. It wasn’t like there was something physically holding me down, but rather, I was paralyzed by fear. I could feel a presence in the room with me. That’s when a black figure appeared. It had no face or physical features; I don’t think it even had a physical form. It stood in front of my bed looking down on me. I kept telling my brain to move, but my body refused.

The black mass leaned down on the bed and began to crawl towards me. I could feel the bed give under its weight and creak despite the lack of a body. It grabbed my ankle and pulled me down the bed before it held me down by my wrists by pinning them over my head. I could feel the warmth of its breath on my face. Finding my voice, I let out a howl of terror and managed to wake myself.

I jolted up in the darkness. Beads of sweat dripped down my face. There was a soft knock on my door a few moments later. Judy let herself in and flipped on the switch. I squinted in the sudden brightness as the light burned my eyes. She asked me if I was okay, but I just shook my head and hugged my knees. My heart was still hammered in my chest and I jumped at the unexpected touch on my back.

“Shh, it’s okay, Rachel, you’re safe.” Judy whispered as she rubbed and patted my back. I hid my face in my hands until I felt her grab my wrist. I let out a yelp and instinctively pulled back. We both looked to see a bruise beginning to form around my wrist. Judy was wrong. I wasn’t safe, not even in my sleep. Some one or some thing wanted my attention.

“It’s after me.” I whispered. She patted my head as I leaned against her shoulder. I stayed there for a few minutes, but I felt gross and sweaty. I decided to take a shower before I tried to go back to sleep. I pulled back the covers and let out a horrified gasp. There was blood everywhere. Again.

I closed my eyes tight and tried to tell myself it wasn’t real, but when I opened them it was still there. On the sheets and the blankets. Down the inside of my pants. I let out a terrified moan as I jumped out of bed. Judy looked from me back to the bed.

“It’s okay, Rachel, the bedding can be washed.” She gazed at me with a concerned look on her face. How could she think this was normal? “You leaked, it’s not something to get so worked up over.” Leaked? This wasn’t a leak!

Just when I was about to ask her what she meant, a sharp pain in my stomach made me cry out. I doubled over and let out a groan before falling unconscious on the ground. And that’s how I ended up spending my Thursday in the hospital.

I woke up in the emergency room pain free and cleaned up. Judy must have called my dad because he was in the chair next to me. He looked relieved to see me awake. Judy and Frank were also standing beside me. We waited a few hours in the ER before the doctor came, asked everyone to leave, and gave me an examination. He pressed around my stomach a bit and asked if it hurt. It didn’t. He paused when he noticed the marks on my arms and legs and asked how I got them. I didn’t want to say, so I just shook my head. Who would believe me that I thought a ghost was attacking me in my sleep?

I told him about waking up covered in blood. He looked at my chart and said the nurses hadn’t reported seeing any when they examined me. I frowned in confusion. I know I wasn’t imagining it this time, even Judy saw it! Maybe she cleaned me up before she brought me in?

The doctor finished his examinations and stepped into the hallway. I could vaguely hear him talking to someone, but I couldn’t make out the words. Until I heard my dad start shouting.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WON’T TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER; SHE’S MY DAUGHTER!” The doctor spoke in hushed tones, which I guessed was him trying to calm my dad down. “Screw HIPPA! TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG!”

Twenty minutes later I was filling out forms so my dad to have access to my treatment since I was 18 now. Being an adult really was complicated. I didn’t remember having to do this last time I was he- The sudden thought struck me as odd. I laid back down and stared at the ceiling as a feeling of déjà vu came over me. Had I been here before?

They were out in the hallway for quite some time before they came back in. And you know what the big secret HIPPA was keeping from my dad was? Nothing. There was nothing wrong with me. The Doctor told us it was stress from graduating. I pointed out I wouldn’t be graduating until next year because I was behind in credits. He changed the diagnosis to stress from not graduating.

Judy came in to tell me I should probably go home with my dad since he seemed worried about me. She told me her daughter called and told her she would be there tomorrow instead of Saturday. I nodded in agreement, despite feeling anxious. More like terrified really. The lines between what was real and what wasn’t were becoming blurred. I decided on one last test. I apologized for the sheets. She said it wasn’t a big deal since urine would wash out.

The drive home from the hospital was silent, until we pulled into the driveway. My dad turned off the ignition and said, “What’s been going on with you, Rachel? I’m worried. You trashed our house, you nearly got arrested for trespassing, and now this?” he grabbed my arm and motioned towards the bruises.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded, forcefully pulling my arm away. “I didn’t trash the house! And what does this have to do with anything.”

“The doctor said it was self inflicted. Am I not paying you enough attention?”

“IT WAS NOT!” I yelled back, feeling my blood boil. “I-I dreamed someone was attacking me, and I woke up like this.” I admitted. His stern gaze seemed to soften.

“I’m sorry, Rach, I forgot. It’s the anniversary…”

I nodded my head, and opened the car door. I was always get depressed around the time of my mom disappearance, but apparently I have my dad to thank for that. “I miss her.” If I couldn’t get him arrested, I might as well guilt trip him.

“Why have you been bringing this up lately?” He asked. He seemed annoyed now instead of sympathetic. “Is this what this is all about?” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Maybe you can talk to your psych about it later today. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.”

I went to get out of the car but stopped. “Have I ever been in the hospital before?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “Why?” I shrugged and got out leaving the question hanging. I took his surprise as a no.

……………………………………………………………………

My appointment with the psychiatrist didn’t go much better. I told her about everything that was going on (minus the possibility of my dad being a murderer) and she asked me if I had been under a lot of stress. While it was true that I had been, I didn’t think it was the cause of everything. There was something more, something darker, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

She upped my anxiety meds anyway and told me to get some sleep. So now I’m in my own room in bed staring at my wrists. The dream felt so real. It was like I could really feel someone grab me. I didn’t do this to myself, right? I’d remember something like that…unless I did it in my sleep in an attempt to wake myself up. I lined up my right hand with the marks on my left and let out a disappointing sigh. The marks lined up perfectly with my fingers.

So apparently I’m hurting myself in my sleep. Why though? And how do I stop it? What if I hurt myself worse than leaving a bruise? What if I dream I’m being strangled and choke myself to death? But why have I been imagining blood?

I don’t know what’s going on, I’m hoping I’ll know more tomorrow after meeting with Bella. That is, if I don’t accidently stab myself in my sleep tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

Friday-

I saw Bella from my bedroom window, so I went outside to introduce myself. Expect she already knew who I was. She gave a wave and said, “Hey, Rachel, it’s been a while, I haven’t seen you in, like, forever! How are you?” I was floored. I swear I had no idea who this person was. Forever is right, I thought to myself. I decided to play along, and agreed with her.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, been a while.” I said, figuring I looked every bit as awkward as I felt. I never was good with small talk. Or regular talk. Or any kind of talk outside of a keyboard. Bella, however, seemed to thrive on it. Getting information out of her was going to be easier than I thought.

She told me all about how much she loved college. She joined a sorority, (She told me the name, but it went right over my head.) And she told me all about the pledging and Greek life. I smiled and nodded politely, it’s pretty much all I can contribute to conversations with strangers. She asked me what college I was going to, and I admitted I still wasn’t done with high school. I got behind in my sophomore year when everything started.

“How’s the baby?” She asked. My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. I shook my head. She obviously had me confused with someone else. Me? Have a baby? I have NO experience with men. 

I let out a nervous laugh and said, “Uh, I don’t think that was me.”

“Maybe it was Lizzy that was pregnant. I can’t remember.” She said.

“Must be.” I said. There was pause in conversation as I tried to figure out how to phrase it. “Do you remember that cornfield maze off the highway?”

“Oh, yeah, I loved that place. A group of us from high school used to sneak in at night and get wasted. They still doing that?” She asked. I shrugged. I hate the taste of beer; I don’t understand how anyone can drink so much of it they get drunk.

“Do you remember anything… unusual happening?” I pried. Her smile faltered. Her stance became uncomfortable. I may not be good at talking, but I’m pretty good at picking up body language. She seemed uncomfortable with the topic.

“Not… really.”

“I found an old cell phone in the field. There was a video on it and you were in it. Do you remember?” I could see her fidgeting. Judy came out and waved at us from her front porch. “You saw my mom in the video.”

“I have to go; I’m sorry.” I watched as she headed up the driveway and back inside the house. She was hiding something, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.

She spent the rest of the day avoiding me. Every time she came outside to vape, I did my best to get a straight answer. Each time she told me she either had to make a phone call and couldn’t talk, or she didn’t remember that night. I doubted her answer. Witnessing a murder wasn’t something you just forgot. Had my dad gotten to her too? Maybe it’s me being paranoid, but once when I walked outside to take the trash out—and maybe sort of eavesdrop on her phone conversation—I could have sworn she said, “She’s asking questions.”

By the time the afternoon came around I had made four attempts to pry information from her, each one failing worse than the last. Maybe I should try talking about something else. She seemed to enjoy talking about school. When I approached the fifth time, she motioned to head back inside, but I stopped her. I told her my school counselor was on me to finish high school and pick out a college—which wasn’t a lie. I asked her what applying for college was like. She seemed to lighten up at this. She walked me through the daunting process, which seemed absolutely appalling to me.

“How am I supposed to pay for it though?” I asked. While we didn’t live in the ghetto or projects, it certainly wasn’t a ritzy high-class area. I certainly couldn’t afford tuition for a place like UC Davis like Bella had managed. I was surprised since her parents weren’t that well off either.

“You can get student loans, although the thought of living in debt doesn’t appeal to me. I got a scholarship, if it wasn’t for that I don’t know what I’d do.” 

“So they pay for your school? What’s the catch?” I asked. She paused to take a puff of her cinnamon scented vape before answering.

“Pretty much, just gotta keep my grades up, do a certain number of community service hours, stay out of legal trouble. Stuff like that. Hey, I got to go, but if you have any more questions about school, hit me up.” She said, before heading back in the house.

I messed around on the computer for the rest of the day before I decided to lie down for a bit. I was still feeling off. As soon as my head hit the pillow my mind began to race with the possibilities of what was going on, but right when I was about to fall asleep my phone rang. I reached into my vibrating pocket and answered with a groggy, “hello.”

The man on the other line introduced himself as Detective Fuller and he was returning my call while Detective Gonzales was on vacation. I sat up in my bed and listened intently. He asked me if I had seen the news. I hadn’t. I ran to the living room and turned on the TV before flipping to the news. The Breaking News headline grabbed my attention. Two bodies had been discovered in the field today; a man and a woman along with a gun.

“What happened?” I asked in shock. “How?”

“I came across the video you sent in; it was enough to get a search warrant. I’d like to ask you to come down for questioning today, if that’s all right.”

“Y-yes.” I stuttered out. “I’ll come down right away.” I hung up the phone as I watched the segment.

I heard my dad come in and stand next to me. He stood as still as a statue as I heard his breath hitch. Once the clip was over, he turned to look at me with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said, dropping my head. “I had to.”

His voice came out barely above a whisper. “Rachel, what have you done?”

“You killed my mother; your own wife!”

He looked at me, eyes wide with fright, “Don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“What they did to you! Rachel, don’t you remember the pregnancy?”

I stepped back. “N-no, that’s not possible! I was never pregnant! There’s no baby!”

“You miscarried.” His voice was slow and drawn out as if talking to a child…or a crazy person. “You asked me earlier if you had ever been in the hospital. You were. Three years ago. For sexual assault. What kind of mother takes the word of her boyfriend over her daughter?”

I wanted to deny it, but his words began to unlock memories deep in the recesses of my mind. I remembered the cold stirrups underneath my legs, I remembered staring up at the grey ceiling wishing the invasive testing would be over. They gave me a morning after pill, but it was too late. It wasn’t the first time he had done this to me. I backed away as more and more memories began to flood in. The night terrors I’ve been having. They weren’t just dreams; they were memories. The pain and blood I had imagined. It was from the miscarriage.

I came home from school sick that day. I walked in on mom and her boyfriend. She told me he was just a friend from work and I believed her. I was such a naïve fourteen year old. I told them I wasn’t feeling well and went to go lay down in my room. I woke up several hours later to find him there, standing over my bed looking down at me. He gripped his hand tight around my ankle and pulled me down the bed. I was too scared to scream. He got on top of the bed as it sunk under his weight and pinned my wrists above my head. Why couldn’t I scream? Where was my mother? She would surely come and save me. She didn’t. It was the first of several attacks.

Tears streamed down my face. “You did it to protect me?” I said. How could I have forgotten all of this?

He shook his head. “Rachel, I didn’t kill your mother. You did.”

~

I sat on the couch as Detective Mario Gonzales, Bella, and my father stood around me. “I-I couldn’t of! The video, it clearly showed a man!” I said. Everyone looked away awkwardly.

Mario finally spoke, “What exactly do you think happened in that video?” I told them my version of events. My father and Mario exchanged glances. “Bella, why don’t you tell her what you saw that night.”

I looked to the blond girl in front of me afraid of what I’d hear. “I saw a masked person come out of the clearing that night, but, it wasn’t a man speaking, it was a female. I couldn’t see who it was, but it was definitely a female.”

“N-no!” I stuttered! This couldn’t be happening! “I heard my mom talking about not leaving me on the video! I heard a mans’ voice! I heard her say ‘I know it’s you, Tom.”

Mario sighed and took his cell phone out of his pocket. “I didn’t want to show you this, but I think you need to see it.”

I watched on the screen as the two girls giggled and pointed the camera at the couple in the cornfield. I heard my mom talking, but it wasn’t about not leaving me. It was about not leaving her job. Shots were fired; Richard went down. And then I heard the voice… my voice. My mom picked up the phone and ran. She pointed the camera at her face and said, “I love you, Richard.” I love you, Richard, not I love you, Rachel.

I choked out a sob as I looked up at them. Tears fell from my face. I turned it off, I couldn’t watch anymore. “How is this possible?”

Mario took his phone back. “You haven’t been in a good place, Rachel. Are you aware of what a delusion is?” My father got down on his knees and took my hands in his.

“I don’t blame you for what happened, Rachel, what they did to you was awful. You couldn’t handle that your own mother would do that to you. Along with the stress of the assault and the miscarriage, it was too much. You called me that night, and Mario and myself helped you bury the bodies. We parked her car at the school, the one you had been hiding in to get there. We took Richard’s car to the junkyard and had it destroyed.”

“They gave me and Lizzy the scholarship to keep quiet.” Bella said softly.

“You were all trying to protect me.” I said horrified.

“I’m going to take the fall.” My dad said.

“No, you can’t!” I said. The guilt of accusing my father began to gnaw at me. “I killed them, you can’t turn yourself in!”

“It won’t do her any good. Her prints are all over the gun. As soon as they run it, they’ll come for her. We wore gloves that night.” Mario said. “Her only hope is an insanity plea.”

“I can’t send my daughter to prison!” He said. His eyes were wet with tears.

“If she signs a confession, she won’t go to prison. She can enter an insanity plea; she’ll go to a hospital. You saw her that night, it wasn’t Rachel.”

“I can’t do that to my daughter!” My dad said. “There’s got to be another way!”

“Didn’t you just tell me you took her to the hospital for self inflicted injuries?” Mario asked. His words pounded in my head. It was true. I had done that to myself. I was a danger to myself and others. They were both putting their jobs on the line to save me. I was so numb with shock I didn’t care anymore.

“I’ll do it.” I said. “I’ll sign it.” They both looked at me for a solid minute.

“Are you sure, Rachel? Is this really what you want to do?” My dad asked. I nodded my head as Mario took a piece of paper and a pen and handed it to me.

I, Rachel Marie Brooks, killed my mother, Staycee Brooks and her boyfriend, Richard Chancler in a fit of insanity.

I signed, dated it, and slid the piece of paper over.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a rough night. Mario called the police station and said I made a confession. There were lots of tears as the police came and took me away, but I’ll never forget the look on my dads face and the words he spoke to me, “I’m so proud of you for being brave.” He had never said those words to me. Those words have kept me going all this time.

Apparently, it wasn’t just the murders I forgot, or the abuse, or the miscarriage, but a whole six months of my life was missing. It never clicked until my first night at California State Hospital. As I lay out on the hard, uncomfortable sleeping mats that passed for beds and stared up at the dull grey ceiling did more memories come back. I had been here before. I had spent five months here my 10th year of school. This place, this god forsaken, horrible place, where the screams and shouts of patients echoed through the halls. This place for the mentally insane is what caused me to lose my memories. This was the reason I fell behind in school. How had I lost so much time? Not all of it came back mind you, but enough to fully come to terms with the fact that I really was responsible for the death of my mother.

It was the worst night of my life. I cried until I made myself sick to my stomach. Then I cried some more. How could I live with myself? How could I live with this immeasurable guilt that suffocated me? No normal person could ever function knowing they were responsible for someone’s death. It was clear my father was not to blame. Only a monster could continue to go on with their day-to-day lives as if nothing had ever happened. Only a monster like me…

My three “cell” mates eventually got tired of my inconsolable, anguished cries and paged an orderly. They came and sedated me with an injection to the neck. Before I went under I told them I didn’t want to live anymore. I told them I wanted to be left for dead and buried in the field I had abandoned my own mother.

I woke the next day unable to move my arms. I struggled to sit up in my drug induced haze. Now this. . . this wasn’t so bad. I could live like this. Keep it coming guys, I thought, I can’t feel the pain. Maybe, if it wasn’t for the over whelming nausea that wet my throat when I moved, I could just stay like this. Even the uncomfortable bed wasn’t so uncomfortable anymore.

A few hours later I woke up needing the bathroom. The drugs had worn off a bit and I was able to sit up. My first thought when I looked around the room was the realization that this wasn’t the room I had fallen asleep in. Instead of two bunk beds in an eerily clean room that smelled of disinfectant, I found myself in a padded cell by myself. No bed, no toilets, no… anything. My arms were tied around myself in a permanent hug. I really couldn’t move; it wasn’t just the drugs.

“Hello?” I called out. “Hello!?” I kept yelling and shouting until someone finally poked their head in. “Where am I?” I asked.

“The safe room. It’s where we keep patients who are prone to self injury or physical violence.” He explained. His voice was monotone and showed no emotion to my situation. It was as if he had seen girls locked in a straight jacket every day. Then again, judging by my environment, he probably did.

I was confused to say the least. It wasn’t until later that I remembered making the comments that I did, but at the time, the last thing I remembered was hurling into our rooms shared toilet. 

“Can you take me to the bathroom?” I asked.

“No, you stay here for another 16 hours.” He said. His eyes showed no sign of what was expected of me. His face showed no expression. I furrowed my eyebrows and looked around the room. “Someone will be here later for cleaning.”

He turned and left me, before closing the door. I heard the locking mechanism that made me all the more aware of my situation. After a while I began to struggle against the jacket more for something to distract myself with. It wouldn’t budge and after a while, all I had managed to do was hurt my shoulder. I laid back down as the fear of my future began to creep in, along with the ever present pulses of my full bladder. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep, hoping the problem would take care of itself. Their problem if I make a mess, I thought as I drifted back to sleep. It didn’t work.

I awoke to someone coming in pushing a cart of tubs and washcloths. Without a word they knelt beside me and unbuckled a few straps. I tried to help her by getting free on my own, but she admonished me with a, “Don’t move!” I tried to lie still, but it was too hard with a full bladder. She called me a, “squirmy one.” Her voice was also flat; it was a bit unnerving.

She moved a few straps out of the way, looked at me and said, “You’re clean.” She began to buckle me back in, but my squirming made it difficult. She took in my movements for a few seconds before asking if I was new.

“What?”

“Are you new?” She asked again much less patient than before.

“Y-yes!” I stuttered out. I clamped my knees shut, and that’s when I became aware of just what I was wearing.

“Go.” She ordered. Seriously? That’s disgusting! It was one thing to do it on accident, but to do it purposefully . . .

“Can you come back later?” I mumbled. I didn’t think I could do that with someone watching if I tried.  
“I’ll come back in the morning when I make my rounds again.” She said and motioned to leave.

“Woah woah woah! No, no, please. Okay, I’ll do it.” It was easier than I thought it would be, but the clean up process was every bit as humiliating. The water in the bucket was like they had melted ice, and the orderly’s movements were full of years of pent up aggression. The ordeal had reset my tear ducts. By the time I heard the click of the locks I was full on bawling again. Food was offered, but I declined it every time. By the third passed meal, they threatened to mark me down with an eating disorder. I never acknowledged their threats. It couldn’t be any worse than being labeled a homicidal maniac. Turns out it was. After being force fed, I ended up spewing spaghetti in the corner and down the front of myself. I was later marked as a “purger”. 

It wasn’t as bad once they had let me out of the quiet room. I was released from the jacket and led to the showers to get cleaned up. I still had spaghetti down my chin and neck. They stood and watched. I hated every minute of it, but getting cleaned was worth it.

My freedom from hospital diapers was short lived after I wet the bed the night I was released from my padded cell. I suspect my fellow inmates narced on me, because while I stood in line with the others for nighttime medication, I was handed a cup of pills along with a hospital diaper. It was nothing like the discreet bed wetting pants I had back at home. I really did try to put it on, I did. I just couldn’t in my drug induced haze. I tried asking for pull ons, but they said this was all they had. So every night was the same routine. They’d hand me one, and I’d throw it away. My roommates must have complained about the smell, because an orderly followed me to the bathroom and made me put it on. After the fifth time I dropped it, they got impatient and did it themselves. Once again, the humiliation was too much as hot tears fell from my eyes.

The days themselves were very structured. Wake up at 6:30, shower with an audience, brush my teeth, and eat what they passed for breakfast. Since I had an eating disorder marked off on my chart, I would be made to finish everything on my plate—even if I detested it. I envied the people who only got to eat half and leave. I would be left sitting long after everyone else had gone still trying to force it down my throat while an orderly sat and watched. Usually it was a drawn out battle of wills, with me being the loser. After breakfast the same orderly would follow me for an hour to make sure I didn’t forcefully throw it back up. It always comes out to say hello without any help thanks to my nightly doses of Seroquel and Abilify.

They said depending on the results of the trial; I might be allowed to go to the conjoined school and finish getting my high school diploma. For now though, my days consisted of psychiatric evaluations and group therapy’s. I was diagnosed with Dissociative Amnesia, and another dissociative disorder I can neither say nor spell. I could only recall a few spread out memories from my past stay, but they were few and far between. The psychiatrist said he remembered me, and he showed me my file and notes to prove I really was a patient here. He said I had made a lot of progress since my last stay. Apparently I was one of his more catatonic patients. He also said it might be why I don’t remember. This was also where my bed wetting problem originated.

We talked a bit, and he agreed to take me off the forced feeding list after we concluding it was the medications doing and not the two-finger weight loss program. It was the best news I had heard all week.

After recreation we were allowed to watch tv. One day I had caught a snippet of the news. I was on it. I was being portrayed as a cold- blooded killer by the district attorney. All eyes in the rec room turned to me. Mine however, were glued in horror to the screen. That’s when my dad came on. He vouched for me, just like he promised he would. He painted me as a good girl with a troubled past and mental illness. It was also when he announced he was running for mayor. He said my bravery was what gave him the final push towards facing his fear of campaigning. He said if elected he would devote his time into getting the city better funding for mental health facilities, and the towns police force.

It was his dream to be mayor, but when I asked him why he didn’t run, he said he just couldn’t. It was because of me. He didn’t want anyone looking deeper into our family history and digging up the truth about me. Now that the cat was out of the bag, he was free to run.

When he came to visit me, I asked him why he didn’t go with self-defense; he admitted the evidence pointed to first-degree murder. If I didn’t get an insanity plea, I was looking at life in prison without the possibility of parole. The thought that I would pre-meditate my own mothers murder sent my stomach into tight knots.

After three weeks I stopped crying during the day, and after two months, I stopped crying myself to sleep all together. The days blurred into each other until it was no longer a horrid and awful place. It was just where I lived. I had a lot of roommates in and out until it seemed they stuck the long timers in together. My “family” as they called the bunkmates, consisted of a paranoid schizophrenic woman in her thirties who routinely accused us of reading our minds and selling her thoughts to the government, a twenty year old with head trauma, one middle aged women who routinely went streaking down the halls in the co-ed section (she says it’s because of her hot flashes) and me-- a first degree murderer. 

The girl with head trauma, Alicia, seemed the most normal out of the others, so I spent most of my time with her. She said she could only remember events for a week before she forgot them so she spent many hours writing things down and keeping a journal. She said she liked to lie and write something crazy down every day because she’d forget about it in a week. When she went back later and read through it she’d always get a kick out of it. She showed me last months entry. On Tuesday an escaped Hippo tore through the cafeteria and gobbled up all the food. I told her that one was true, but it wasn’t very nice to call Greg, the front security guard, a Hippo because he was over weight. She laughed and wrote a note about it in the corner. When she got to one page, she scanned it and quickly flipped to another before I could read it. We play fought over it until I managed to gain control and flip the page back. Apparently the “girl who wets herself in her sleep” was caught in the supply closet masturbating with a broom.

I heard her mumble an apology, but I told her, “For your information, that broom handles name is Steve, and our relationship is none of your business.” We laughed for a bit, until she suddenly leaned over and kissed me. I pushed her off of me lightly. She seemed hurt, but I knew she’d get over it in a week. “You’ll make Steve jealous.” I whispered.

“I don’t care,” she whispered back. She leaned into me again, but I didn’t push her off that time. She was my first love. We broke up three days later when she remembered she was dating someone else. I was heart broken. In another week, we were back to being friends writing notes in her journal. That was how I got into writing. It was an escape from my circumstances. I wrote novels in my spare time when I wasn’t in group sessions and kept a diary to keep myself sane. I wrote of the adventures of other girls with mental health issues. Sometimes they were also bed wetter’s; sometimes they weren’t. It helped me cope. One chronicled the adventures of an 18-year-old girl living in a dystopian future wrongly accused of murdering her brother because she too had a Dissociative Identity Disorder. Alicia liked that one best. I spent my days lost in the world of my mind dreaming that someone too would come save me and tell me it was all a misunderstanding. But it was nothing but a dream.

When the trial finally came almost a year later, I was given the best verdict possible thanks to my father; innocent by reason of insanity. It was a tough and emotionally driven trial. My injuries and health records were released to the public and my past was hung out like dirty laundry. The world knew of my diagnosis, they knew of my repeated rape, the miscarriage, the bed wetting, and my abandonment. It stirred up more memories and more pain than I care to admit. I received many letters of support, along with just as many letters wishing for my execution. The prosecution painted me as a menace to society, a calculated and cruel killer trying to play the sympathy card. My psych took the stand and said I was not a violent person now that I was under correct care and supervision. I was, as he said, a victim of my circumstances. Unfortunately, it did not mean release.

I’m twenty-one now. I’m sorry I made it seem like the events were currently happening to me, but a few years of have passed.

Things got better when my dad got elected mayor. He moved me to a private center instead of a state run hospital. It’s still far from ideal, but I have Internet access now, which is how I’m writing to you all. I even have my own room instead of sharing with three others. In comparison to where I came form, it’s like a resort. It’s amazing what money can get you. I spend my days working on my novel from the scattered papers I brought with me. 

It was hard for my father to visit me, and I know he was super busy being mayor. It makes me happy to hear from him though. I always looked forward to his calls. He told me he’s thinking of running for governor in a few years. I told him I wished could be there cheering him on from the side, but he reminded me the reason he even gets to run at all was because of my bravery that night. My heart swelled with pride, it made me feel so much better. But all that changed one day.

Things would have been good (not great, but good) if she hadn’t come! Why did she have to do this to me? I was content not knowing! I had made peace that this was my life now. This is what I deserved! She ruined everything!

Bella came one day to visit. I hardly recognized her. She seemed sad. She was no longer her chirpy, ditzy, student self. She told me she had graduated college and gotten married. I told her “that’s great!” but she just shook her head.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. Knowing what I did to you is tearing me up inside!” I wish I had told her to leave. She kept going. “I have to tell you the truth.”

I cocked my head to the side in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

She whispered. “That night all those years ago out in the cornfield. We went to the police station to report what we saw, but we were drunk. Detective Gonzales blackmailed us the next day. He said if we spoke a single word of what we saw, he’d arrest us for under age drinking. I couldn’t have that on my record, Rachel, I’d lose my scholarship.”

I stared at her, unwilling to speak.

“Did you know that detective and your dad were best friends in high school?” I shook my head. “Rachel, they tampered with the video, it was fake. The first one you saw was real. It was a man that night in the mask. They made me. . .” She broke down in sobs in the visitor’s room. Some others stared at us. I was trying to process what she was telling me.

“But I really had repressed memories! I was hurting myself! I’m mentally ill!” I said. “I just repressed the murders, right?” It’s what I had told myself for so many years! I repressed them with everything else, and I was lucky that I didn’t remember. But here was someone from my past telling me everything I knew was a lie? Again?

“Just because you have a mental illness doesn’t make you a killer.” Tears spilled down her eyes. “I can’t live with myself keeping this from you. You deserve to know the truth.” She leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You didn’t kill your mom; your dad did.” 

The End


End file.
